Decisions
by Belief Among Unrest
Summary: Simon must decide who he loves: Maia, a werewolf, or Isabelle, a Shadowhunter. Sometimes a test of the heart has to be found through that electric kiss.


All right, I wrote this a while back and submitted it on deviantart, where it was pretty popular...ish XD But it sucked in my eyes. So I took it, revised it, and posted it here. Great story, ain't it?

Hey, just sayin', people always say that "ain't" isn't a word, but why does it never come up an incorrectly spelled? Just sayin' XP

But anyways, like it, love it, fave it, whatever. Do those if you want to. But I'm serious when I say: REVIEW IT. I get no reviews, I panic and it disappears =O DON'T LET IT DIEEE!

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Simon was absolutely torn.

There were two smart, otherworldly, beautiful girls, and they both wanted him.

What was a vampire to do?

Maia, on one hand, was a downworlder. She understood him, even though she once tried to kill him, and told him they could never be friends. But she was strong, and fast, and capable of being with him without accidentally being hurt in a physical way. He knew she was someone he could be with and feel comfortable with, too. Things had clicked between them from the start.

But if pain or comfort or safety was a reason to be with someone, the one person who could take it was Isabelle, a Shadowhunter. She, on the other hand, lived for pain. Her dangerous personality and deadly whip showed no mercy. She was absolutely stunning and risky, and sexy. Ugh! Why was it so hard to choose?

The down side to loving both of them was that they were mortal, while his un-beating heart kept him frozen at sixteen—forever.

He had loved Clary once before too. But now she had Jace, and they saw each other on occasion, but he wasn't able to walk into her new home, the Institute. He was unholy. He was . . . lonely.

Love was a messed up world, and he was caught right in the middle of it all. If he thought war was horrific, digging himself out of a grave was pain, drinking blood every day was disgusting, and choking on God's name was torture, this was hell on so many more levels. You'd never understand why until you faced this challenge yourself. Which most people won't unless they were dead, drank blood, and were in love with a werewolf and a Shadowhunter—in that case, he apologized.

He knew he would have to decide whom he loved eventually: wild and beautiful Maia, or dangerous and dazzling Isabelle. And today would be that day.

He now lived in closer proximity to Maia's brownstone than Isabelle at the Institute, so he thought he should go to her first. His mom was out of town for the week, and his sister was spending the weekend at this lame horseback riding club in New Jersey, and would be home in a few days. So Simon had the house to himself until they returned. If all went well today, that would be to his advantage. (A/N you love it ;D)

Maia's place was a shabby, run-down apartment building with no windows; well, the ones that were there were boarded up. He rang the doorbell next to Maia's last name, and heard her soothing, eager voice through the speaker next to it.

"Hello, Simon? Is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me," he replied a little shakily. "Can I come in?"

"'Mhmm," She replied through the other end. Simon grabbed the door handle, and pulled. It was rusted and opened hard, or would if he were still human, so he almost tore it off its hinges without thinking about it. Glancing behind to make sure nobody saw that, he propped the door up behind him and walked inside.

The room inside was in clear need of being cleaned. The furniture was dusty and falling apart, and the wallpaper was peeling in every corner you looked at. He didn't even want to know what that smell was—or that brown stain. Better to just walk away.

The elevator was broken, oh-so-surprisingly, so he took the stairs, bounding three steps at a time. He was excited and nervous and nauseous all in one emotion. What did you all something like that? Constipation?

Thinking that he had better not think at all, Simon reached her door. He tapped twice on it, his hand shaking slightly with anticipation. She answered it with a huge grin, her eyes crinkling at the edges with lines. He smiled, his nerves easing a bit.

"Come on in," she invited friendlily. He did. She closed the door behind him.

"Maia," Simon started, and then stopped. What would he say?

"Yes, Simon?" She asked him, her ecstatic expression subsiding some.

"Maia . . . do you . . . like me?" He asked hesitantly.

She looked startled, and then she laughed. "Of course silly, why wouldn't I like you?"

Simon fidgeted a bit. "I don't mean, do you like me like a person, like a friend, I mean it as more of a . . . do you . . . well . . ." He trailed of uncertainly. He wasn't sure where he was supposed to go from there, but he knew there was only one real way to know for sure whether or not he felt how he thought he felt.

Simon closed the space between them and kissed her.

Her lips were soft, and immediately responsive to his, but there was something off. It was like he had gone one step forward, and two steps back, into the "in jail" spot on the playing board. Like something wasn't right here, like he was doing something wrong. He hesitated, and she replicated his action with a hesitation of her own. They broke apart, and stared into each other's eyes.

"What'd you feel?" She asked him at last, a kind of disappointment apparent in her tone.

He hesitated. "Not much," he said at last.

"Me either," she said dejectedly.

Simon offered her a friendly grin. "Never happened, right?"

Maia smiled back dazzlingly. "Never happened," she agreed, sounding sort of relieved. "Hey, do you want to stay for a up of tea, or something?"

He looked skeptically down at her. "You don't drink tea," he laughed.

She smiled wider. "You're right, that's a crock. I'll see you later then, okay?"

"'Course."

As Simon left the building, he couldn't help but sigh. Like there was a big weight being taken off of his shoulders. Of course, an undetectable force had to thrust it back on his shoulders when the thought occurred to him that it wasn't over yet; he still had Isabelle to talk to. That was going to be interesting, and possibly lethal.

The walk to the Institute took about half of an hour on a normal day, but with his feet dragging underneath him in nervous preparation, it took a bit longer than he thought. Once he arrived, after an hour of walking, he froze outside. Did he just ring the bell and hope Isabelle opened the door? He couldn't very well go inside anymore, and the thought of Jace or Alec opening the door made him uneasy. Both were likely to bother him until he told them why he wanted Isabelle.

Swallowing his uncertainty and anxiety, he climbed the few steps to the doors, rang the bell, and stepped down. As he waited, he heard footsteps echo through the building. Isabelle opened the door of the Institute wearing a long green dress, her black hair spun up around her head into a delicate bun. She grinned a very wide grin when she saw him.

"Simon!" She exclaimed delightedly. "What are you doing here?"

"I have to talk to you," he said lamely.

"Uh-oh," said Isabelle, her smile fading as she bit her lip. "You're using an unhappy tone. What's going on?" She stepped down a step so she was just a few above him. "Is someone hurt?"

"No," Simon said. "I just needed to talk to you about something . . ." He trailed off.

"Great!" She said cheerfully. "I'll go get my coat, we can go somewhere a little more private."

Simon nodded, swallowing hard. Isabelle bounded up the steps. She appeared a few moments later with a small jacket in her hands. "Let's go," she said brightly.

They walked back to his place talking about a lot of different things: Jace and Clary, Alec, Isabelle's enrollment into a mundane cooking class, how Simon had apparently grown taller than her since they last saw each other, to which he couldn't help but say that that had been about two days ago. She laughed.

Isabelle turned to him once they got inside. "So, Simon, what did you want to talk about?"

Simon paused for a moment. "Well, you see, I went to Maia's today, and . . ." He broke off when he saw her hurt expression. "Nothing happened," he amended. "But, I know how you feel about me, and I want to know if I feel the same way. So . . ." He trailed off awkwardly, not knowing what to say next.

Isabelle sighed. "Remember when you were a mundane, and we were 'together' for a while?"

Simon nodded. That was when he was still in love with Clary. "I remember."

"Well, I know you did it just to make Clary jealous, but what did you feel then?" Her eyes searched his face expectantly.

"I felt . . . content. Comfortable. It felt right. But I didn't know what that emotion was. I still thought I loved Clary."

"What do you feel now?" She asked.

"Empty." He said miserably.

"Well," said a wide-eyed Isabelle. "I know how we can figure out a way to make you feel cheerful again," she said slyly, walking toward him slowly. "Like it was the same way it was then. But better." Her face was inches from his.

Simon reached out and pulled her toward him. The moment their lips connected, sparks flew around in his head, and fireworks exploded between their mouths. He parted her lips with his and breathed in her aroma. It was a heavy scent, but very pleasant. She threw her arms around his neck, and he puller her closer, though it didn't feel close enough. They stayed attached for another minute before Isabelle pulled back.

"So," she said evenly, "Where's your bedroom?"

Simon smiled. "Right this way ma'am."

And they flew from the room, down the hall.

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R&R MAH DEARIES! I CRAVEEE YOUR OPINION!


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